


God of War

by macabrecabra



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Implied Sexual Themes, M/M, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Yearning, mention of domination and submission, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8036677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabrecabra/pseuds/macabrecabra
Summary: This was written as a response to one of the short prompts I take on request over on my tumblr blog c:  https://macabrecabra.tumblr.com/People send me asks of things they want to see and I write it but I'm particularly proud of this one so I am posting it up here too <3





	God of War

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a response to one of the short prompts I take on request over on my tumblr blog c: https://macabrecabra.tumblr.com/
> 
> People send me asks of things they want to see and I write it but I'm particularly proud of this one so I am posting it up here too <3

To some, Genji’s strength of character, his calm zen-like nature and quiet certainty about who he was was what was the most attractive aspect about his character. To others, it was the pain he kept inside, the feeling that he needed to be helped in order to conquer his own demons. Still to the less enlightened, the mere fact that Genji was half machine was enough of a draw to attract them to him.

For Reaper, he did not care much for any of those things.

In his mind, he saw Genji as a different breed of human, a dangerous fighter with a grace that was unnaturally breath-taking and of strength that did not need patronized. He did not approach Genji because he was looking for sympathy or some comfort in a fellow soul. The mercenary was not the type to wallow in his own miseries and hope others would try to coddle him. That in fact was the quickest way to have him sneering and turning away.

He hated people who thought that all he needed were kind words and friendship to “heal”.

 

Some people couldn’t heal, didn’t need or want to heal. Some people were fine with their wounds and baring them proudly, wearing the scars as things that could not be forgotten. There was just as much strength in being rigid and unmovable as there was in bending knees of humility.That sort of strength was so rare, so forgotten, and Reaper quickly had lost interest in the usual heroes and patrons of justice.

However Genji was different and there was something far more attractive in his nature to Reaper. He was powerful but that power didn’t come from any cause, any sort of moral high ground. It was a simple natural power, a certainty, an indomitable will that would never bend knee to anyone when revealed in all its glory. Seeing him in battle was a private joy for Reaper. It was where Genji proved every expectation wrong and showed his true character, uninfluenced by any outside source, pure, raw, and wild, yet still maintaining that sense of perfect order. Everything Genji did was balanced.

 

He stood out from all the other fighters in that he never hesitated. He was at peace with the world but he would take a life if necessary. Reaper had seen how that blade had cut deep into foes and had seen no body language that indicated a sadness. Not like what he saw in Tracer or even the omnic monk when they were forced to violence. Genji took life. He spared those he could but he only gave them one chance. In his blade, justice, true justice, existed.

Genji was a god of war. He embodied all the fury of Ares and the wisdom of Athena in one entity. He was the spirit of victory, Nike, fully realized and drove his foes before him like chasing mere ants.

In battle, in movement, Genji was the perfection and efficiency, the pure power that Reaper could take in and admire. He enjoyed being a spectator to the god of war at his bloody work, coming above the fray untouched and poised. Calm and collective, taking no joy in the battle but neither taking no sorrow. He understood better than anyone the necessity that was his task, the role for which he was made for. 

Genji understood that this world was not black and white, good and bad.

Reaper only wished that off battle, when the fervor of the fight had died down, that perfect creature did not always retreat away as if realizing it was out and ashamed to be seen. He pulled back and became peaceful and docile. Genji sat and mediated with Zenyatta and spoke of all the good of the world when Reaper could tell the god of war yearned for something else. He laughed and joked in a mundane sort of way when the god of war would be better in louder, more risque jokes.

When the mask was on, Genji was more himself than when it came off.

He was at his best when he put on his visor and stepped into his holy persona and took to battle again and again, every moment a spectacle of visual bliss.

The mercenary watched from afar and quietly yearned for that god to turn and look his way, to meet his eyes and see what he saw, to let that inner beast, that inner perfection stand tall and to be what he wanted to be without fear of losing anyone around him. To let the world know he did not have to change to be a hero. Gods stood higher than heroes and gods did not have to bend for anyone.

If Genji asked, demanded, Reaper would let him rule him. He would get down on knees and worship every inch of him, running hands over the form that housed that blinding spirit, invade him with desperate want and know that any victory he won was because Genji let him have it. He could win battles but the war was already won by the god of war.

Reaper wold let Genji lure him in with a beckon and harsh words, a smirk upon his lips as the facade of calm was replaced by the smile of a hungry dragon, longing for the heat of combat and the thrill of a challenge. Reaper would fight and struggle as much as he was ordered to do so, every demand made of him he would oblige but by the end he would lose. He would surrender with a bowed head before the one who had already won from the start.

All Genji had to do was ask and Reaper knew he would pledge himself to the temple of the god of war and take up his call, his true words said silently in the heat of combat, and carry that banner into the bloodshed.

Death admired war and war did not exist without death. Together, they would be something beautiful. A perfect embrace of terrible passions and dark desires, a pattern of control and submission that would burn the world ten times over if it was allowed to ignite.

But Reaper did not speak, did not dare to approach. He was afraid of rejection and he cursed himself for his cowardice. He held his tongue and simply admired Genji in battle each and every time, feeling his devotion and admiration grow with each conflict. His infatuation.

His love.

Only the dark nights would ever hear those confessions, whispered in the night to pants of desperate desire, those prayers to which the god of war’s name were uttered in reverence.

He could only pray one day Genji looked his way and saw the devotion that burned inside of him and finally asked.

Until that question passed those perfect lips, Reaper would wait.

He would always wait for his god of war.


End file.
